oye! oye!

February 05, 2008

It's Super Fat Tuesday. I'm settling in for a long night of result-watching. Thank God I'm at a party where we are lucky enough to be eating paczki's (pronounced POONCH-kee)—the Polish doughnut you eat the night before Lent starts. And when I'm done with that, I'm going to move onto these delicious Election 08 map-snaps. I will try not to spill any jelly on my "Irish Americans for O'Bama" t-shirt.
P.S. We're taking t-shirt orders.

February 04, 2008

Will I lose all credibility here, especially on the eve of the year's most exciting day yet (Super Tuesday), which I plan to pontificate on, if I tell you that I had a great great time watching 27 Dresses at a multiplex yesterday? It was perfect. Katherine Heigl has good comic timing—that's all there is to it. And the rom com had all the necessary components: a hot boss, a bitchy sister, a cute Manhattan apartment that is way bigger than what a real 20-something secretary living in New York would ever be able to afford, and a super-cute cynical journalist whose only fault is accidentally lying to the subject of his big-break article, providing the audience with the obligatory moment (not more than that) of concern that his lapse of ethical judgement might stand in the way of our perfect ending. I think you might be able to guess how that worked itself out. And so we smiled and said "ahhhh..." and walked out to have our parking ticket validated.

December 26, 2007

I sometimes rent and pick up an I-Go Car from a parking space a few blocks away from me in Lincoln Square. I love the car share system and have been using it fairly regularly since I moved back. Drivers are kind to each other and generally leave the car clean and gassed up for the next person. Lincoln Square is the land of expensive baby strollers, the Old Town School of Folk Music, and ultra-pleasantness. Which is why two days ago I got great joy from changing the pre-set #1 on the car radio from WBEZ, the NPR-affiliate, to B96, home of Top 40, deliciously obnoxious morning shows and white deejays who talk like they're black. Who knows, if it catches on, maybe the Old Town School will be inviting Chris Brown for a concert on the mainstage one of these days.

November 08, 2007

It was a little less than two years ago when I launched this blog. I was living in Chicago for a few months and found my environs at the time to be conducive to regular writing. I got back to New York and, despite all of the creative inspiration that the Big Apple has to offer, I fell off the blogging train. Just couldn't find the room in my brain and my life to sit down and write.

Here I am, in Chicago once again. In fact, I'm sitting in the same cafe where one day I bought five delicious chocolate chip mini scones and a chai tea. Then I went back to the friend's apartment where I was staying and started to blog. I love this cafe. So today when I came here, I knew it was time to re-start the blog.

Let me start with a list. Even though the last time I did reader's choice I never responded to the reader's choices, I promise I will this time. Which would you like to hear about?

--An investigation into the factors influencing body temperature. Also known as: why am I so cold here even though it's not winter yet and there are much colder days ahead?

May 30, 2007

So I'm standing in line at my local deli, waiting to order my custom salad. The woman in front of me is pointing at the ingredients she wants added to her bowl of mesclun. "And chicken, and walnuts, and Craisins," she says while pointing at a bowl of cranberries (!). The salad-maker behind the counter is game. "Raisins or craisins?" he asks. "Craisins," she confirms. I looked closely to see if they may in fact be that raisin/cranberry blend sold by Ocean Spray (doubtful that there is anything special about a Craisin other than having extra sugar and being GMO-plumped up), but no, the bowl is indeed a bowl of dried cranberries.

It's my turn and I decide it is my civic duty to order cranberries on my salad, and to emphasize cranberries when I put in my order. The salad-maker is game once again, catching the linguistic fast-balls (or perhaps change-ups) as they come.

May 23, 2007

There are many hours in a day in New York City. Sometimes it feels like more than in other cities. And sometimes I reflect at the end of the day and am struck by just how many encounters I have had. There was nothing at all unusual or spectacular about today. It was a day just about as regular as they come. The day was nearly in danger of being totally unmemorable in fact. But as I walked by a Cuban restaurant on 14th street with a sign for "Salsa! Wednesdays at 9pm" and looked inside to see people sitting at tables, not dancing, for some reason all that was normal in the day became notable. And so I note:

March 26, 2007

A spirited dinner conversation with visiting (conservative) parents and and local (liberal) descendents attacked the question of the role of government in a free market democratic society. The conversation started at a theoretical level, with one of the conservatives relaying the wisdom of an F.A. Hayek, a philosopher and economist of the Austrian School, who might be considered a libertarian by today's labels. One of the liberals asked for some specific examples of the alleged dangers and loss of freedom associated with increased government. This led to a debate about nationalized health care. No common ground. Then a conversation about national defense. Less common ground.

And then, one of the conservatives suggested the example of the 2005 Supreme Court decision that expanded the reach of eminent domain to include seizure of private property to make way for private development that would benefit the community. Aha! Here was something the local liberals and the out-of-town conservatives could agree upon! Eminent domain, as witnessed by the locals in the case of evil developer Bruce Ratner and his Atlantic Yards project, is bad. It stomps on the rights of little citizens for the benefit of rich developers, with questionable benefits for the community as a whole. And for the conservatives, it tramples on the ever-sacred individual rights of the citizen as property owner.

It was a beautiful moment of common ground. One of the liberals found herself momentarily surprised to be side-by-side with the C's on this one—a cause celebrated by all the dyed-in-the-wool Brooklyn liberals. In recent years, she had forgotten about old-school conservatives, becoming much more accustomed to Republicans who favor big business and profit interests over governmental restraint. Oh Halliburton, how you've changed us all.

March 25, 2007

Every time I go out to bars on a Saturday night in Manhattan (a relatively rare occurence in my Brooklyn thirtysomething lifestyle) I always come back with a good story. Last night, at a West Village joint called Dublin 6, the downstairs bathroom was where it was at.

It was about midnight and the fairly young bridge-and-tunnel crowd was on their way to being fairly-well sauced. I walked into the 2-stall room to hear Catty Girl #1 explaining to Catty Girl #2: "Yeah, she's got, like, pre-cancerous cells," she said as she gestured towards her nether regions. CG #2 "Yeah, HPV! Oh God." There was a certain delight in their voices as they relished the unfortunate circumstance of the HPV girl. CG#3 entered the conversation with an all-knowing, it's-time-for-compassion tone. "I know, but I wouldn't wish that on anybody. I really wouldn't. I wouldn't wish that on anybody." CG#1 and CG#2 slipped in to an open stall together. CG#3 continued to pity the HPV girl.

Meanwhile, in the shared stall, CG#1: "I mean, you get that from having unprotected sex." CG#2: "Yeah, she's a whore!" CG#3 on the outside: "But I wouldn't wish that on anybody though."

February 19, 2007

Sometimes when a person does not acknowledge the influence he has on others, humility plays a role. The person simply might not see himself as deserving of the type of attention that leads to influence. But Hollywood is generally not known for its humility. So, when the lead writer of the TV show "24" says “I think people can differentiate between a television show and reality" in reference to weekly scenes from the show that depict illegal methods of torture conducted by U.S. government agents, I refuse to believe humility plays a role. Rather, this is denial, on the grandest and most irresponsible scale, of the power that television has over the acquisition of knowledge by most Americans.

Torture, "24," and the allegedly unintentional impact the show has on American military training is the subject of a fascinating article in the most recent New Yorker.

I was going to write much more about this, which I will as soon as time permits. In the meantime, just read this article.

January 27, 2007

Today I visited my hairstylist in the epicenter of hip, also known as Williamsburg, Brooklyn. I used to live in Williamsburg, but in the last couple of years, I rarely go there except to get my hair cut. I'm on my second stylist in the hood—this one at an unlikely (for me) setting called "Hair Metal." They wear black, play Black Sabbath, and have a very messy bathroom. The first time I went in, at the suggestion of a friend, I had not thought about what the "metal" in "Hair Metal" was all about and had trouble keeping my jaw off the floor as I worried about what kind of cut and color I might walk out with. But as it turns out Christy understands my hair quite well (it's just like hers) and gave me a very good cut.

So I went back. A good haircut is totally worth sitting through two hours of my least favorite kind of music. Christy and I had warmed up to each other even more by this time and we traded stories about her dream of moving to Charleston, South Carolina and about the fact that my name is the second most popular dog name in the world.

As we reviewed the holidays, it came out that she had stayed home on New Year's Eve. "I go out EVERY other night, so I don't need to go out when the rest of the world is." I nodded in understanding and asked her where she usually goes out—is it usually in Williamsburg? "ALWAYS. ALWAYS in Williamsburg." I was impressed by her fierce loyalty to her hood, which sure is something when you're going out EVERY night. There was definitely a hint of "why would I go anywhere else?" in her voice. So perhaps that's not loyalty. Perhaps it's provincialism. In any case, the enthusiasm and commitment with which she seems to engage with her home turf was admirable. Even if some day she wants that home turf to become Charleston, South Carolina.

It made me think about LIVING where one LIVES. Really LIVING. LIVE it up. Let LIVE. About being so excited and focused on the place you're in that you ask, "why go anywhere else?" And with that, I settled into the sweet sounds of Judas Priest, letting the contentment wash over me.